


Pretty Wicked Things

by Natasi (SwordDraconis113)



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/F, Grief/Mourning, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-27
Updated: 2013-04-27
Packaged: 2017-12-09 15:59:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/776060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwordDraconis113/pseuds/Natasi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coming back from the Deep Roads, Xanthi Hawke just wanted to get away from her mother's accusing eyes. But a part of her had wanted to stumble across Isabela, if only for a masochist desire to get what she deserved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pretty Wicked Things

Armor glinted, splattered with blood as she pushed through the door. Xanthi moved stiffly, her jaw tightening when pain couldn’t be masked. She wiped idly  
at the itching blood on her face. Her gloves somehow managed to tangle in strawberry blonde hair, loose from being pulled back. Without even huffing, she  
tugged, allowing the chain mail to keep the few strands from her head.

She should shower, clean her armor or at least sleep. Maker, she knew, but the Hanged Man, dingy and known for its own share of blood spill, would only blink once at the sight of her; knotted, exhausted, and still numb to the sight of Bethany’s body being carried away by the Grey Warden’s.

“Hawke?”

She laughed bitterly. Of course the person she needed would be there, waiting as if sensing her required audience. Looking up, she smiled at Isabela, then cast her gaze back down.

She hadn’t expected pity reflected back at her.

“You talked to Varric, I see?” Xanthi murmured, pulling the strands from the glove. Taking a moment to fake a smile, she slowly lifted her eyes to her friend’s. Isabela smiled back with a more practiced smirk.

“He bellowed on about dragons. I had to lend an ear,” the pirate shrugged. Her eyes looked over Xanthi’s armor once before smirking back up. “Even began with ‘I shit you not Rivaini, it was _this_ big.’”

She chuckled, folding her arms across her breastplate, “Shouldn’t be too much of a surprise that we fought a dragon. You and I killed that one back in the Bone Pit not too long ago. Or was that just a footnote in your exciting life?”

Isabela let out a chuckle, “Maker, that seems like a lifetime ago. So Varric’s not just telling grande tales to impress me then?”

“Oh well, I wouldn’t say that. He may have tweaked some facts.”

“Don’t tell me the griffon didn’t truly swoop down and eat the ogre!”

Xanthi laughed. “Well I can’t horribly disappoint you now.”

“No, you can’t. But you _will_ tell me about all the darkspawn you fought. Varric mentioned something about a queer boy and ‘enchantments’.” Isabela nodded her head to a table. Allowing herself to be lead in the back of the tavern, towards a dingy table, Xanthi watched as Isabela sat down casually, then gestured for her to sit down across from her self.

The wood was damp, and an old game of cards was laid out, scattered and forgotten at the end of the table. Ale was thick in the air, especially over the area, and an old chicken bone - at least what she _hoped_ was a chicken bone - had been stuffed between two loose panels.

It was a sudden realization that her bloody armor probably stuck out less than she’d thought.

Carefully sitting down, she looked across to see Isabela’s head resting on the back of poised hands. “Did you want a drink or a game?” the woman asked, directing to the damp cards. Xanthi blinked.

“Cards?” her nose wrinkled at the look of them.

“No, I guess not. Anything particular you want to drink?”

“I…” At a loss for words, she dropped her shoulders. A drink would be nice. A game distracting, but she didn’t come for either. To be honest, she wasn’t sure why she’d come. “A drink would be good.”

Isabela raised an arm, gesturing to the barkeep for a jug. Her eyes, however, didn’t move from Hawke’s. She was curiously staring, waiting for something to happen.

Maybe, Xanthi realized, Isabela expected her to break down sobbing. No, the woman knew her too well for that. Maybe she just wasn’t sure what to expect. Isabela was better at reading people then she was.

“Are you going to tell me a story?” Isabela asked.

Xanthi shook her head.

“Perhaps I should begin with a story then. Have I told you how I met the Hero of Ferelden?” Again, she shook her head. At the mention of the Hero, she felt sick. That was her cousin, a hero. She’d never met the girl; by the time she was born, her cousin had been taken by the Circle. It was the last straw for Mother, and when Bethany had shown signs, they went on the run.

If Bethany _hadn’t_ been a mage. An apostate. Maybe... _maybe_ …

“Maker’s breath we’re going to need another jug.”

“Huh?” she blinked, snapping back with damp eyelashes. _Blast it all_. A Hawke didn’t cry. Bethany hadn’t, so she wouldn’t. The only one allowed to was Mother and she was an Amell first, then a Hawke.

The waitress pulled away, swaggering off with empty cups balanced on top of a plate.

A jug had been placed down in front of Xanthi, with a mug already poured and pushed into her hand. She hadn’t noticed. She hadn’t noticed the taste either, when she took a mouthful of the ale. It was watered down, stale and had been left in some rotting barrel probably. It tasted foul, but she didn’t care much.

It may as well had been piss for all she noticed.

Isabela however, was looking down at her hands awkwardly, pretending to find some interest in the dirt under her nails and _not_ drinking.

“What did you get up to while we were gone?” Xanthi asked.

The pirate frowned at her question, “as much as I’d enjoy bragging about the booty I plundered-”

“ _Oh_?”

Isabela couldn’t resist the brief smirk that lit up, pleased across her face, before then dying across her lips. “I have to ask: Why are you here? You don’t appear to be interested in drinking and there are places much more lively than here. I hear Hight Town even has fancy cheeses with bits of fruit.”

“Perhaps I’m here for the company.”

“Hawke-”

“Can we…” she shook her head, swallowing back the words. “Not here.”

Hesitantly, Isabela nodded, taking a mouthful of ale before rising to her feet. She gestured lazily for Xanthi to lead, throwing a few copper pieces onto the table before following.

Xanthi climbed the eight steps of the Hanged Man with heavy feet, her metal boots clunking against the ground. She remembered Isabela pointing _once_ to the room she had paid for in advance. But the tavern was small and it was easy to find than she thought.

Stiffly, she walked in, allowing Isabela to step inside and lean against one of the more-cleaner parts of the wall before she closed the door behind them.

They stood awkwardly for a few moments, with Xanthi kicking at the flooring, attempting to make a vague gesture to how, even here, it was cleaner than Gamlen’s. But the words stuck halfway in her throat.

She wouldn’t cry. Dammit, she _would not_. Bethany wouldn’t want to see her cry.

She tugged off her gloves, lying them over the wooden bedside table before stretching her fingers. From the wall, Isabela watched, a small frown to her lips.

“Hawke-?”

She lunged, slamming Isabela hard against the wood until the woman’s head hit back and bounced gently against the wall.

A soft sound of surprise rose her breasts, pressing them tight against the metal breastplate. Curiously, she flickered between Hawke’s green eyes, watching the pupil’s dilate as the blonde panted.

“Hawke?” she tried again. Softer, sweeter to coax a worded response.

Instead, the blasted warrior kissed her. Her fingers, still warm from the gloves, scraped through her dark hair, tugging her close until their teeth gnashed and all she could taste was the ale on her tongue. It was wrong, all wrong and tainted.

_Balls._

She hadn’t wanted it like this. Not with Bethany’s death so bitter in Xanthi’s mind.

Isabela shut her eyes, squeezing them tight. Maybe she could do this, maybe she could give some relief to the pain that Hawke craved so desperately.

Her hands lifted, scraping around the pale neck to pulling their bodies close. But quickly her fingers fell to tangle around the armor plating, tugging at the hooks and clasps she’d thought of undoing once or twice in the dark shadows of this very room.

Similar whimpers had been on her lips then.

But Xanthi didn’t want what Isabela was offering to her. She didn’t want the gentle caress and sweetly smiling lips. Maker’s breath, she couldn’t stand the _kindness_ being offered. It was too much. She wanted to instigate pain; tear the cloth from Isabela’s body and fuck her hard, mercilessly against the wall.

She wanted flushed cheeks, to see golden eyes roll back and her brow pinched with a murmured collection of curse words too vulgar by any standards. She’d tease her, play with her for hours on the brink of release, if it’d make her hate her. If it made her tiredly strewn on the floor, her body damp with sweat, mouth dry as she looked up at her.

Then she’d leave Isabela without another word. With glaring eyes on her back, a loose fist banging against the ground, demanding for her to finish what she’d started.

Maker. She wanted to hurt her so she’d be hurt back.

But the woman’s hands grasped at her face, ripping her lips away until she couldn’t even taste the sweetly sour breath of alcohol and tevintar tobacco. “Hawke-”

Xanthi leant forward again, halted as Isabela held firm. “What?”

“This isn’t- this…” Isabela looked at her carefully, her eyes flicking between Xanthi’s. “If I knew you wouldn’t hate me for allowing this, I would. But I-I can’t.”

“ _Why_? Isn’t this...don’t you want this?”

Bittersweetly, the woman smiled at her, “I can’t. Not like this. Not here.”

Ripping back, Xanthi glared. “ _Why_? It’s not like I have anything to lose?”

“Oh sweet thing. If only you knew.”

“Knew what? Knew what would have happened in the Deep Roads? I lost her, Isabela. I lost Bethany. I lost Carver and now…” she swallowed, taking a breath to focus her thoughts. “Mother hates me. She can’t look me in the eye. Maker, _I_ can’t look myself in the eye. I keep thinking that if I had just _listened_. If I had-”

“You can’t know what would have happened.”

“She’d still be alive,” Xanthi bit back, “She’d still be _untainted_ and free. Not wandering around with the Grey Warden’s. If she survives,” she whispered the last part, looking down at the ground.

She shouldn’t have come here. But she couldn’t stay there, not with Bethany’s things still cluttering the room. The area still smelling of flowers she’d picked to mask the potent scent of urine. Not with Bethany’s grey face in her mind every time she closed her eyes.

She couldn’t.

“ _Or,”_ Isabela broke in, “maybe she’d be taken by the templars. Maybe she’d have a bad run-in with a bandit late at night without you there to keep her safe. You don’t know.”

“I do.”

“You don’t.”

“And what do you know?” Xanthi demanded. “She wasn’t _your_ sister.”

“No. She wasn’t. But I know enough, and trust me Hawke, when I say that meaningless sex with your friends won’t end well.”

“Why not? Seems to end well enough for you.”

“It doesn’t.” Isabela shoved her away, barely watching the blonde stumble back as she moved to stand in the middle of the room. Take a breath, she clenched a fist before she turning back to face her. “I like you, Hawke. I like having you as...my friend. I don’t want things to go all awkward because you can’t stop imaging me naked.” It’s quickly spoken with a too-fast smirk that’s not gone unnoticed by Xanthi.

She doesn’t know what it means and nervousness made her babble, “If you’re worried that I’ll fall over myself in battle because you’re giving a high kick, I’ll have you know that I already fall over quiet well with the sword I carry.”

Isabela chuckled. Staring down at her feet. A moment held awkwardly before she looked up at Hawke, “You don’t want this. Not really. If you want sex, I suggest the Blooming Rose, hell, I’ll even pay for you myself. But not me. I’ll drink and gamble with you. I’ll even make sure no one steals anything but your pants from you when you pass out, but don’t ask me to do that.”

Xanthi nodded, her brow wrinkled before her shoulders dropped in defeat. “Okay.”

“Good. Now, do you want to start a game of cards or-”

“Just one thing. Firstly.”

Isabela went still. “What is it?”

“Am I _really_ that bad of a kisser?”

Isabela laughed, throwing an arm around Xanthi’s shoulder before kissing her cheek. As her lips began pulling away, she murmured, “sweet thing, I’m going to be kicking myself by the end of the night for giving you up.”

Hawke laughed, smiling perhaps honestly for the first time that evening. “You really are a good friend, Isabela.”

“You are _not_ drunk enough to say things like that yet. Perhaps you really did take a bad blow to the head.”

Xanthi awkwardly ran a hand to the back of her head. “Varric tell you about that? I told him, _one_ golem. It was _one_ fist and he got me by surprise.”

“You fought golems too? _Oh_ , now _there’s_ a story.”


End file.
